


hey batter, batter, won't you swing?

by eraserbitz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, baseball!AU, tbh it's just a really self indulgent, with the gang and dean and everything is so happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:48:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5756035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eraserbitz/pseuds/eraserbitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens every summer – an end of the year celebration full of barbeque, pie with ice cream, and an explosive, baseball game between the Novaks and Winchesters (along with a few strays of course) that the entire block watches, a few hours before sunset. And of course Dean’s more than ready, with it being Sammy’s first year on the team, to beat some Novak booty. Or just roll around in the freshly cut grass with Cas. Cause both is good. Yeah, both is definitely good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hey batter, batter, won't you swing?

**Author's Note:**

> The baseball au you never thought you wanted (but actually do). Cause I love me some boys in baseball pants. And destiel. Hell yeah. (also, post celebratory celebration in the royals winning the world series cause they deserved it after 30 years..30 years in the making. frick yeah). side note: i haven't written in a really long time and this is still a piece from 2 months ago that i had the inkling to post, hope y'all enjoy it.

It’s here.

The day is here, Dean thinks, as he wakes up at 11:00ish (cause sleeping in never felt so damn good). And boy is he ready for a damn good baseball game. He feels the excitement creep into his body, right down to his toes as he makes his bed, pillows lopsided. Dean plays AC/DC as he’s brushing his teeth, cause it’s never too early for a little rock and roll.

And then he pulls out his baseball pants, lays out his mitt and his beauty of a bat, caressing the smooth, worn wood.

“Dean!” Sam yells, bursting into his door, catching Dean right in the middle of stroking his second baby (the first being the Impala, of course), and immediately throws a bitch face. “Ugh, Dean, it’s like noon. Can you stop making out with your bat for like five seconds?”

Dean snickers, and just croons out loudly, “It’s okay baby, he didn’t mean it!” And then proceeds to smooch the ever loving hell out of his bat, ignoring Sammy’s gagging noises. “He’s just jealous that he hasn’t gotten to play with his own bat yet.”

Sammy throws the next best thing after his bitch face – the eye roll (although he’s got _nothin’_ on Cas). “Whatever, Dean. Anyways, lunch is almost ready, and I was really hoping to get in some practice before the game-“

“Fuck yeah,” is all Dean replies. “Hell yeah, cause today means food, pie, and baseball. And this year is your first year,” he says, grinning widely, carefully placing his bat against his bed and giving Sam a noogie - forcing him to bend down cause really, the kid’s a Sasquatch - much to Sam’s chagrin. (His big brother status allows him this right.) “You nervous?”

“Ugh Dean,” Sam whines for the second time, fixing his mop of hair as he answers. “Of course, but it’s not like life or death, right? I mean, it’ll be fun. I’ve got my stuff laid out already; I think Mr. Novak wanted the game to start a few hours before sunset.”

Dean’s grin gets even wider. “Of course it’ll be fun; it’ll be the best baseball game the block’s seen all season. Now scat, I’ve gotta shower. And eat. And then practice.” Sam simply huffs out a breath, muttering something under his breath about high maintenance brothers, and leaves.

Honestly, Dean can’t even remember when there had been a summer _without_ a celebratory, end of summer baseball game. Just like how he can’t remember how Cas and him became friends (which everyone says is the best sign of friendship, to which Dean agrees with wholeheartedly). And damn, is he ready to pummel some Novak ass tonight. There’s no way his team is losing, and he, of course, pointedly ignores last year’s disaster of a game where Benny had let Cas walk, making the bases loaded. And then fucking Gabriel had to hit a home fucking run, causing the Winchesters (and friends) to drop by 4.

It’s okay though. Cause he’s not bitter at all. Nope.

Okay, maybe Dean’s a tad salty. But not really, though, cause Cas’ face of victory, full of triumph, cheeks flushed and hair matted down with sweat, more than made up for it. And after the last strike of the bottom of the ninth, Cas crushed him into a tight hug, warm and sweaty in the cooling night, and Dean nearly had a chick flick moment. And maybe he _did_ share his pie with Cas a little later that night, but hey, that’s not something everyone needs to know.

But this year Dean’ll be smug, cause they’ve got Sammy, and with his long, gangly legs he’s bound to be getting them runs. And then after their win, maybe he’ll plop down into the freshly cut grass, throw off his cap and kick off his shoes, and lay right next to Cas, just like they’ve done before in the past years. And Dean will listen to their heavy, out of sync breathing, and he’ll stare up at the pitch black sky, Cas pointing out obscure constellations and feel all the good and all the right.

It’s around 6:00 when they start; the sun low in the sky, faint, streaky orange painting the horizon. Dean watches lazily as Benny warms up with Sammy, just as Jo and Charlie arrive.

“Hey,” he greets them, each with a hug and a kiss to the cheek. “Ready to pummel some Novak ass?”

“You mean am I ready to beat some Angels?” Charlie asks cheekily, even though it’s been years and she still thinks it’s a riot that the Novaks named their team the Angels (cause they technically _are_ named after angels and it’s cheesy as fuck). “Although that sounds awful. Good thing this is baseball and not some psycho, supernatural reality, am I right?”

Jo barks out a laugh. “Alright, I think that’s enough LARPing for you,” she pats Charlie’s cheek. “I think you’re an outfielder this time, since Sam’s here and hijacking your position.”

Charlie smiles widely before throwing her hands up, fist pumping. “Hell yeah! I can finally _not_ get hit in the face for once.”

Both Dean and Jo laugh this time, just as Adam arrives. Then the battle strategies start, cause there’s no way in hell that they’re losing this game. And of course, Gabriel and Cas drop by, Gabriel to throw some friendly trash talk (“We’re so winning this game, ya noobs; I’m the home run master.” “Yeah right, Gabe, that was a one-time thing, don’t think you’ll be so lucky this time ‘round.” Benny snorts.) and Cas to be, well, Cas, by offering up some random facts that has Dean’s sides stitching from how much he laughs.

By the end of, Dean’s wiping fake ( _real_ ) tears from his eyes, and he pats Cas on the back. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says without thinking, and wow, that came out a lot more sentimental than he thought it would.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas replies, and gives Dean a toothed smile. “But flattery won’t get you anywhere, cause we’re beating some Winchester ass tonight.” He punches Dean’s arm, good naturedly, winks boldly, and then saunters off with Gabriel laughing his ass off.

Dean’s left spluttering, _because what the hell,_ _Cas never trash talks_ and the roar in his ears is everyone around him laughing their ass off at the exchange, and his thoughts are running in circles because Cas just fucking winked at him and-

Christ.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, rubs his two day old stubble, and damn it all, laughs.

The Winchester & Friends (Dean isn’t even ashamed of the name, compared to the cheesiness of _Angels_ ) get to bat first, since they played defense first last year. And he’s the second on the batting list, Adam being the first.

The first three innings whizz by, scoreless, until Lucifer (Cas’ satanic cousin, even though Cas always tries to convince Dean he’s not Satan) hits one down into the outfield, and it rolls, getting him to second base. The Angels score, with applauds and screams as the accompanying sound to Satan sliding to home plate. It’s 1-0.

After the fourth inning, there’s a 10 minute water break, and as Dean goes back into the dugout he’s swearing loudly. “Fuckin’ Satan man; of course it had to be Satan.”

“It’s alright, Dean,” Sam says, sounding resolved and hopeful, “we’re like the Royals, we never score until the end.” And Dean waves him off, cause of course his kid brother believes in the Royals.

It’s around the 8th inning when things began to look hopeful, as Sammy hits a goddamn home run and Dean almost cries when he sees the ball sail right over the fence. 1-1. And then Jo knocks the ball into the outfield, and gets on base. And so does Charlie. And Benny. And it’s just like last year, except flipped around, where it’s _their_ bases that are loaded, Dean at the plate, smirking at Balthazar.

Cas pitches a fastball, which is Dean’s favorite, and honestly, he really should’ve known better.

Dean grounds his feet in, fixes his fingers, and swings as hard as he can, dropping his bat as soon as he sees it flying, and runs. Runs, until he sees it hit the top of the fence, and bounce back into the field. Then he sprints to second, sliding for it and Bobby declares him safe.

Dean wipes the sweat off his forehead, and gives a toothy grin to his mom and the block cheering and hooting. 1-3. The eighth inning passes without any more runs, and in the ninth inning, it’s the Angels batting, two strikes.

1-3.

He watches Cas swing, all hard muscles and springy legs, ready to sprint. The ball sails towards the middle of second and third, and in desperation, Dean slides, feeling the dirt scrap his arm, closing his eyes. Without prying his eyes open, he squeezes his mitt, and satisfaction brims over, as he clutches the tiny ball tucked in his mitt.

There’s screaming from Jo and Charlie, Sammy pulling off his head gear excitedly as they cheer their win. Dean’s flushed from the intense game, sweaty and pink and covered in dirt and he couldn’t be happier. “What was that about kicking ass,” he yells over the cheering to Gabe and Cas, throwing his hands up. “Cause I think we just pummeled yours!”

And he sees all of the Angels walk in, throwing handshakes and hugs, cause either way, it had been a hell of a game. Dean looks for his favorite mop of dark hair, and at the first sight of blue eyes, he crushes Cas into a winding hug.

“You owe me pie,” he croons delightedly, not letting go of Cas and just breathes, laying his head on Cas’ shoulder.

Cas’ voice comes, rumbly and deep and just the way Dean likes. “Of course,” and he feels Cas smile into his hair, and lips on his ear. “When have I not owed you pie?”

“Fair enough,” Dean concedes, laughing. Dean pulls back from the hug, hooks an arm around Cas’ shoulders, and they begin the trek back towards the barbeque party at the end of the block.

As they leave, there are hoots from the others, yelling things like get a room. Without missing a beat, all Cas does is turn around, smirk at them with a flirtatious wink, and then flips the bird when Gabe yells out “They’re fucking!” Dean can’t even walk straight after that, laughing so hard his cheeks and stomach hurt.

And later, after they share a drink and Cas gives Dean some of his pie, and Dean returns the favor by dolloping two scoops of vanilla ice cream onto his plate. At midnight, like they’ve been doing every year, Dean sneaks off with Cas, returning to the baseball field, and they sprint to the outfield, and just plop down, laying the grass.

Dean feels the grass under his fingers, the cool night and wind brushing against his still flushed cheeks post game, and stares up at the stars. Cas’ fingers find his, and they tangle together, their breathing in sync.

“That’s the Big Dipper,” Cas rumbles out, tracing the shapes to Dean. “And that’s the North Star.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, suddenly breathless, because Cas’ hand is _warm_ in his, and holy shit, this is happening. “This is good,” he says abruptly. “This is so good Cas.”

His only response is a small grunt from Cas, and Dean rolls over, and lays right on top of him. His other hand runs through the grass until he finds Cas’ other hand, warm and solid against him. Their foreheads touch, their noses brush against each other, (and Christ, it’s like a Nicholas Spark movie but Dean can’t even bring himself to care because the good feelings keep rolling) and then they’re kissing.

And then Dean smiles against Cas’ chapped lips, cause the damn fool never takes care of them, lets out a soft laugh, and they collapse into a satisfied mess of giggles and friendship and _love._


End file.
